A volunteer is a person who voluntarily gives his or her time and energy to benefit others or society without any material gain. Volunteers can work in various fields:
Social services: helping the poor, organizing shelters for the homeless, assisting the disabled.
Education: helping teachers in schools, tutoring children, eliminating illiteracy.
Health care: caring for patients in hospitals, participating in blood donation campaigns, promoting a healthy lifestyle.
Culture and art: conducting excursions in museums, helping at theaters and concerts, preserving cultural heritage.
Emergencies: providing assistance to victims of natural disasters and other emergencies, etc.
Today, volunteering is developing in our country.
Many volunteer schools and teams have been established, and volunteers are working tirelessly in the above-mentioned various fields.
For example, the Republican volunteers of the “Golden Wing” and the Republican “Young Reformers’ Movement” teams are doing a lot of work in the field of volunteering.
Here the question arises: “What does volunteering give us?” Let’s look at it together.
The benefits of volunteering for us young people are multifaceted and they are as follows:
Volunteering helps you gain experience in various fields. You can develop skills such as organization, communication, leadership, teamwork, and problem solving.
Volunteering helps you understand your abilities, strengths, and values. By helping others, you feel useful and valuable.
Volunteering is a great way to meet and make friends with people who share your interests. You can make new friends and expand your social circle.
Volunteering reduces stress, improves mood, and increases self-confidence. You will feel happier by helping others.
Volunteering helps you learn more about new cultures, different people, and social issues.
Volunteering brings together different people for a common goal. This creates a sense of solidarity and unity in society.
In short, volunteering is an important activity that benefits everyone. It is a key force for personal growth, community development, and solving global problems. If you are thinking about becoming a volunteer, definitely give it a try! It can change your life.
Shonazarova Parizod, from Uzbekistan.
Born in 2005 in the Khanka district of the Khorezm region. Currently a student at the Urgench State University named after Abu Rayhon Beruni. Since her youth, she has been interested in writing poetry. More than 50 of her poems, as well as journalistic and scientific articles, have been published in reputable newspapers and magazines in more than 10 different countries. Chairman of the Khorezm region of the Republican “Young Reformers Movement”. Coordinator of the Khanka district of the Republican volunteer team “Golden Wing”. Member of the People’s Democratic Party of Uzbekistan.
Crystal Resonance — Ancient Prophecy and the Science of the Future
Chapter One
The End of the Earth, and Bangkok Along with It
“According to the AI algorithm I developed, the Earth’s magnetic field is exhibiting anomalous fluctuations — fluctuations that have begun to affect the planet’s own axis of rotation. In other words, the Earth’s position within the solar system is shifting.”
The emergency transmission left the Cosmos Thailand Advanced Science Research Centre at 7:43 in the morning. The centre stood on the banks of the Chao Phraya River, north of Bangkok, in a city not yet fully awake — poised in the brief, breathless stillness before the rush-hour tide. The data it carried meant only one thing: the end of the world.
Simultaneously — elsewhere on Earth
In the BBC’s London headquarters, a science correspondent frowned at her monitor in a darkened newsroom. “If this data from the Thai institute is genuine…” The screen blinked with its alert: BREAKING: Thailand Scientists Report Critical Earth Axis Deviation.
At NHK in Tokyo, a meteorologist stared at his display with open
bewilderment. “Bangkok is reporting accelerated axial tilt? The Japan Meteorological Agency hasn’t said a word about this.”
At CNN’s Atlanta headquarters, the international desk chief barked into his phone. “NASA, NOAA — I don’t care who — just get me confirmation on this Thai announcement!”
“Our observations indicate the Earth’s rotational axis has shifted 0.3 degrees over the past twelve months, and the rate of change is accelerating. If this trajectory continues, within weeks the planet’s entire meteorological system will collapse and urban infrastructure will be rendered non-functional — with a probability of 93.7 percent.”
The face behind these words was Dr Somchai Wichaisawat — at thirty-eight, Thailand’s foremost atmospheric physicist, and a scientist already celebrated well beyond its
borders. Four years ago, he had assembled and now led the Climate Emergency Response Team, a group formed precisely for a crisis no one had expected to come so soon.
Three hours after the announcement
France 24’s science commentator chose her words with care: “The Thai research team has an impeccable reputation. But the fact that no other observatories have confirmed geophysical changes of this magnitude is, to say the least, perplexing.”
Deutsche Welle ran an emergency segment under the headline: Erdachse in Gefahr? — Thailändische Forscher schlagen Alarm.
Standing beside Dr Somchai was Dr Sato Mari — thirty-five, her title straddling environmental engineering and quantum computation. Five years earlier, she had abandoned her research post at the University of Tokyo, drawn to Bangkok by the prophecies encoded in an ancient manuscript her late grandfather had left behind. Somchai had been sceptical at first; her combination of rigorous scientific method and something more intuitive had, in time, persuaded him to bring her in as a full collaborator.
That afternoon — the world responds
Russia’s RT framed the story as a planetary crisis the Western media is attempting to suppress; China’s CCTV emphasised the importance of international scientific cooperation while quietly noting discrepancies between the Thai data and Beijing’s own geophysical readings. India’s NDTV brought a Vedic astronomer into the studio — “Ancient texts contain strikingly similar passages,” he said — while Al Jazeera relayed, in rapid succession, the reactions cascading across the Middle East.
Something was wrong with the solar system, and the land of Thailand was beginning to show it. Despite the dry season, Bangkok had been drenched in relentless, unseasonable rain. In Ayutthaya, the earth had cracked open; UNESCO-listed temples were tilting on foundations that no longer trusted the ground beneath them.
Reports of similar phenomena multiply worldwide
A seismological institute in California logged unexplained microseismic tremors that would not stop. Meteorologists in Australia reported extreme weather events wildly out
of season. Norway’s polar research station announced an abnormal pattern in aurora activity — unprecedented in the station’s records.
In Bangkok’s markets, government alert tones rang from every speaker. Some people made for the new concrete evacuation shelters; others, trusting the older instincts passed down from their grandparents, ran to the temples and pressed their hands together before the monks’ chanting. It was a strange tableau — smartphones delivering evacuation instructions, while incense smoke rose and the old prayers did not pause.
That night — a simultaneous global broadcast
World bulletins
BBC World Service: “If the Thai predictions prove accurate, we may be facing the most significant planetary crisis in human history.”
CNN International: “Scientists worldwide scramble to verify unprecedented claims from Bangkok research center.”
NHK World: “Global crisis warning issued by Thailand scientists; world research bodies scramble to verify.”
The government issued an evacuation advisory, but flights had already sold out. Those who could not leave established impromptu communities in temples, schools, and vast shopping centres, learning, in the space of hours, how to live without the infrastructure they had always taken for granted. Evacuation alerts streamed across every smartphone
screen; ancient custom and cutting-edge technology existed, side by side, in a dissonance no one had designed.
But a handful of people — very few — already knew the truth: this crisis was not an accident. It was a plan.
Chapter Two
Those Who Live Beyond Memory — Narada’s Warning
“I have lived for twelve thousand years.”
To look at him, you would have guessed late twenties. But in the depths of his eyes lay something no living person should carry: the full, undiminished weight of twelve
millennia.
He called himself Narada. In a room of an ancient temple on the outskirts of Bangkok, he sat gazing at the dying light of afternoon and spoke quietly, as though describing what he had seen only yesterday.
“I watched the last days of Mu and Atlantis with my own eyes.”
Somchai and Mari, seated before him, could not breathe. Twelve thousand years ago — the era when the last ice age came to its end.
“Those civilisations did not vanish overnight. They had developed across tens of thousands of years and reached a mastery of kōsei — the technology of spacetime manipulation — that lies entirely beyond the imagination of contemporary quantum physics.”
Somchai leaned forward. “A civilisation that advanced. Why did it fall?”
Narada smiled — a smile edged with something old and sorrowful. “That is the greatest warning they left us.”
As modern humanity depends on oil and atomic energy, so the ancients were dependent on kōsei energy — a power that dwarfed nuclear force by orders of magnitude. “They understood the laws of nature completely. But understanding a force and wielding it rightly are very different things.”
Mari’s hand moved unconsciously to her pendant. How much of that lost wisdom still persisted in the world, hidden beneath the names of magic and miracle?
“Fragments survive even now — called ‘magic’ or ‘myth’. Columbus, for instance.”
Narada shifted his gaze. “He was able to find the Americas because he possessed ancient maps. He already knew the Earth was spherical.”
Somchai operated the holographic display, calling up a three-dimensional map of the Earth.
“Was the American continent a colony of Mu?”
“Yes. According to paleomagnetism dating to roughly 350 million years ago, the North Pole of that era lay near what is now the Japanese archipelago — around the 30th parallel north. Direct your attention to that line.”
Mari operated the display. A single line materialised — and she heard herself gasp. “Egyptian, Mesopotamian, Indus, Yellow River civilisations. Every ancient civilisation lies along this line.”
“Coincidence?” Narada’s question hung unanswered in the air.
“The Egyptian pyramids. The subterranean kingdoms. The Bermuda Triangle. Each represents a realm — above ground, below ground, beneath the sea.”
A fragment of her grandfather’s manuscript surfaced in Mari’s memory: the diagram of three kingdoms. It matched Narada’s words exactly.
“The pyramids are not tombs. They are three-dimensional quantum computers of vast scale — structures built to control human fate and withstand interference from the celestial realm.”
The air in the room grew heavy. The anomalous magnetic field patterns displayed by Somchai’s latest atmospheric model suddenly felt very close to real.
“Until one appears who can draw near to truth beyond the material world, the Earth will continue on its path toward ruin.”
Narada turned to the window. In the sky, the stars had arranged themselves in the shape of a cross; Antares blazed blood-red among them.
“My heart is at peace. I have found the path to Tusita — the passage to a higher dimension.”
Somchai and Mari exchanged a glance. The multi-dimensional theories emerging from
the latest quantum models resonated, strangely and precisely, with everything this man had just said.
“The present Earth is entering the cycle of dissolution, as it did in the age of the Great King En.”
His voice was quiet; his certainty, absolute.
“But when the true sun rises beyond the horizon of heaven, everything will change. Its golden light will unmake the rulers of this world and give humanity new form. The hour is coming when the ancient people sleeping in the underground kingdoms will wake.”
“Rulers?” Somchai asked.
“They fear that light. They are attempting to compress the Earth to zero-dimensionality through a black hole — but that would cause the planet’s mass to collapse inward upon itself.”
Somchai’s hands trembled as he worked his tablet. On the screen, the latest magnetic field variation data pulsed like a heartbeat corroborating every word.
“There has never been a being that prevailed by defying the truth of the cosmos. Only those who follow truth can live forever.”
At that moment, Mari’s crystal pendant blazed. The room turned gold. Time seemed to stop.
Within the light that enveloped all three of them, the shape of a lost civilisation rose from the dark — as though the memory of the cosmos itself had returned. A great ancient city unfolded before their eyes.
Chapter Three
Portents Over Bangkok
(1)
Through the window of Somchai’s office, Bangkok’s dusk burned gold. Beyond the
Chao Phraya, skyscrapers and ancient temple spires stood together against the fading sky — the city’s quiet argument between modernity and antiquity.
“Mari, look at this. These readings are wrong.”
Somchai pointed to the Earth magnetic field variation graph on the holographic display. Mari gripped her pendant and studied the numbers.
“The axial tilt has increased by half a degree in a single month. This is far beyond our projections.”
On Somchai’s desk, ancient Thai-language sutras lay beside fresh printouts of quantum calculations — his attempt to bridge science and traditional wisdom, criticised by colleagues worldwide as wasted effort. Mari was the sole exception. She had been searching for answers in the concept of musuhi — connectedness, as understood by Japanese Shinto — and its resonance with Thai Buddhist thought.
“What did your grandfather’s manuscript say?” Somchai asked.
Mari drew a worn bundle of washi paper from her bag and read aloud: “‘When the axis of the earth begins to tilt, a messenger descending from the sky shall speak. When the young sage weaves together ancient wisdom and new art, follow the path the spiral of light reveals.'”
Somchai rose and moved to the window. In the Bangkok sky, strange rings of light had begun to form — atmospheric phenomena to a casual observer, but unmistakable to two scientists: the early signatures of magnetic field distortion.
“Tomorrow I want to visit Wat Phra Kaew,” Mari said. “Grandfather’s diary records that when he meditated there, a monk taught him about ‘the spiral path’.”
“Do you truly believe it? Things science cannot explain?”
Mari smiled. “Somchai, our quantum models can’t be fully explained by science alone either. Quantum entanglement transcends spacetime. Musuhi — as Grandfather described it — is also a wisdom about invisible connections.”
That night they remained in the research centre, linked by video conference to colleagues around the world. The screens filled with reports: anomalous melting of the Arctic ice cap, magnetic disturbances along Mediterranean coastlines, strange ribbons of light crossing the American continent.
“This data suggests the Earth may tilt to thirty degrees,” reported Dr Johnson from the United States. “If it does, rotation becomes unstable. In the worst case…” He could not finish the sentence. Everyone in the call knew what came after: the Earth departing its orbit.
Mari stood. “We have an option. I’ve found a method to stabilise the Earth’s magnetic field using quantum-level resonance. The algorithm Dr Somchai and I developed can model the interaction between the inner core and the external magnetosphere.”
She projected the calculations. Complex equations and a three-dimensional model filled the screen — but embedded in the formulae were symbols no scientist there recognised.
“These are not mathematical notation,” a German physicist noted.
“They are ancient symbols,” Mari explained. “Representing concepts common to both Japanese Shinto and Thai Buddhism. Incorporating them into the quantum algorithm improved the model’s accuracy.”
Sceptical expressions appeared on every screen. But the results were not deniable: their model predicted the Earth’s changes more precisely than any other simulation in existence.
After the conference ended, Mari stood at the window and looked up at the night sky. To her mind’s eye, a spiral of light was clearly visible there — invisible to the instruments, obvious to her. Was it the same celestial sea her grandfather had described?
The following morning
Bangkok was in the grip of an abnormal heat wave. The precinct of Wat Phra Kaew — the Temple of the Emerald Buddha — which would normally be busy with tourists, was inexplicably still.
The temple’s splendour met the morning sun in full: golden roofs, walls of red and green mosaic tile, elaborately decorated chedis, the solemn procession of guardian figures. Wat Phra Kaew was not merely a temple but the spiritual heart of Thailand — a sanctuary that had sheltered the kingdom across centuries.
Mari stepped through the ornate entrance gate and drew a slow breath. The fragrance of sandalwood and lotus drifted on the air. The murals of the Ramakien — Thailand’s version of the Ramayana — blazed from the walls with mythological intensity.
The moment she stood before the temple, her pendant began to glow.
“Here,” she said, with the certainty of someone who has reached a destination they were always meant to reach.
They proceeded to the inner sanctum and stood before the Emerald Buddha. The image was, in truth, carved from jade — only 66 centimetres tall, yet the most venerated Buddha in all of Thailand. Its mysterious green luminescence was said to shift through seven colours with the season and the angle of the light. For centuries, it had been held to carry a power that protected the kingdom itself.
Mari closed her eyes and began the Shinto meditation her grandfather had taught her. Somchai sat beside her and entered Thai-style contemplation. As their awareness deepened, the ambient noise of the city withdrew until only silence remained.
Then Mari’s pendant blazed — and from its light a spiral uncoiled through the room. A three-dimensional image formed before them: the Earth, white and beautiful, its axis visibly, unmistakably tilted.
“This isn’t a hologram,” Somchai whispered.
The image changed to show the Earth’s internal structure — inner core, outer core, mantle, crust — and then they saw it: a spiral of light rising from the planet’s centre, enveloping the whole globe in its embrace.
“Somchai — this is the celestial sea. The spiral of light Grandfather wrote about. The
Earth is alive. And right now, that life is in pain.”
The vision shifted again. Surrounding the Earth: countless points of light — motherships, each one a vessel of beings who had come to help.
One ship drew close enough for them to see inside. Around a circular table sat figures shaped like humans. And among them—
“Somchai, that person…”
The young man in the image was unmistakably Japanese. A name arrived in her mind with the force of recognition: Hoshino Takuma. He was aboard the ship, in conversation with the beings around him, discussing the crisis unfolding below.
“Hoshino Takuma…” Mari breathed. “That name is in Grandfather’s diary. A brilliant physicist who vanished without a trace in the 1970s.”
The vision faded. Two scientists sat once more in the quiet of an ancient temple. But the image had burned itself into them.
“I know what we have to do,” Mari said, rising with new resolve. “We need to complete the quantum resonance device and stabilise the Earth’s magnetic field. And we need to make contact with Hoshino Takuma.”
“But he’s aboard a mothership. How do we — ”
Mari held up her crystal pendant. “With this. Grandfather said it was the key that connects to the celestial sea. Combined with quantum computing, we should be able to communicate through wave resonance.”
They returned to the research centre at speed. Above Bangkok, more light rings were spreading across the sky. The general public was beginning to notice. The first tremors of panic were visible in the streets.
Back at the centre, urgent communications from around the world were waiting. The magnetic field variation had accelerated further; the axial tilt had already reached
twenty-five degrees. Far ahead of any projection.
Mari set the pendant into the quantum resonance device. The research centre’s computing systems engaged at full capacity. On the screens, complex quantum entanglement patterns appeared and slowly converged into a single design — resembling, unmistakably, an ancient mandala.
Somchai stared. “This is…”
“The figure of paṭicca-samuppāda — dependent origination,” Mari answered. “Everything is connected. What our quantum computer has found is a truth that ancient wisdom already knew.”
A strong light burst from the device, filling the room. Their consciousness felt as though it had been cast into open space.
The mothership appeared again. And this time, Hoshino Takuma was looking directly at them.
“Dr Sato Mari?” His voice arrived not through the air but directly into her mind. “Are you Sato Gendō’s granddaughter?”
“Yes. We are trying to save the Earth. But we are out of time. The axial tilt is accelerating.”
“I know. The ship’s sensors have been tracking it. But there is a solution — a means to harmonise the resonance between the inner core and the external magnetosphere.”
“The quantum resonance device,” Mari said. “But how do we deploy it at planetary scale?”
“We have the technology. What is needed is quantum anchors installed at specific points on the Earth’s surface — stable nodes of resonance.”
The image changed. Seven points on the Earth began to glow: Bangkok, Thailand. Mount Fuji, Japan. Giza, Egypt. Machu Picchu, Peru. Sedona, United States. Uluru,
Australia. Mount Kailash, Tibet.
“Miniature versions of your quantum resonance device must be placed at each location,” Takuma continued. “We will activate them from the ship using wave emission. That may be sufficient to stabilise the magnetic field.”
To install equipment at seven sites across the globe would require the cooperation of the entire world.
“How much time?” Somchai asked.
“Twenty-four hours. Beyond that, the tilt will exceed thirty degrees. The point of no return.”
The connection severed. Outside, the Bangkok sky had filled with a vast iridescent light. Citizens held their phones aloft, photographing the sky. Social media was drowning in reports of the anomaly.
“Contact our colleagues worldwide,” Mari said, her resolve absolute. “We need teams at each site.”
“Will the international community believe us?” Somchai asked.
“I’ll make them believe.” Mari pulled up the vision’s data on the display. “This is the evidence.”
Outside the window, an unprecedented vortex of light was beginning to form in the Bangkok night sky. The Earth faced a crisis unlike any in its history. But there was hope: ancient wisdom and the latest science had converged, and contact with the messengers from beyond had been established. Humanity held, for the first time, a small possibility of saving the world.
Mari closed her hand around the crystal pendant and recalled Takuma’s words. “Wisdom and life are of the same substance.”
She understood them now — truly, at last.
(2) — The Memory of Ruin, and the Awaited One Who Will Wake
Narada — the young man who bore that name — had the face of someone barely past boyhood. In truth he carried twelve thousand years of memory. Twelve thousand years of living. By what means, no one could say.
Twelve thousand years ago — the era in which Mu and Atlantis were said to have sunk beneath the waves. He had lived through those civilisations, he said, watching countless human lives play out among the dying.
Mu and Atlantis had not sunk in a single night. Their civilisations had persisted across epochs measured in hundreds of millions of years; their science had surpassed our own by a distance we cannot calculate. Above all, their mastery of the science of consciousness exceeded anything contemporary humanity could imagine. We stand, now, at the threshold of its doorway — nothing more.
And yet they fell. Why? If the reason could be understood, it would be the great lesson of our age.
The energy they commanded surpassed oil, surpassed nuclear power — and that same surplus became the mechanism of their collapse. Portions of their science survive today, spoken of as magic and myth. Columbus, it is said, was able to find the Americas because he possessed ancient maps; his greatness lay in the courage to believe them and act.
The theory holds that the Americas were once colonies of Mu. According to paleomagnetism dating to approximately 350 million years ago, the North Pole of that time lay near the Japanese coast — around latitude 30 degrees north. That same latitude, strikingly, passes through the birthplaces of all four great ancient civilisations: Egypt, Mesopotamia, the Indus Valley, the Yellow River. Coincidence? Perhaps not. Along that same parallel cluster the mysteries of the modern world: the Egyptian pyramids, the underground city of Agartha, the Bermuda Triangle.
“The pyramid is not a king’s tomb. It is a device — built to exercise complete control over the fate of humanity on the surface.”
Its structure was designed to withstand magnetic-wave attacks from the celestial realm; attempts to destroy it, Narada claimed, would invoke such spiritual force as to precipitate the destroyer’s own ruin. The pyramid is a three-dimensional computer for the control of matter.
“Unless one who can comprehend the true nature of this device appears, the Earth will continue its descent toward ruin. The one I am waiting for is the Awakened One.”
Narada looked up at the sky alone. The cloud-sea burned crimson; the stars were already appearing, arranged in the shape of a cross — not like the stars seen from the ground, but as jewels scattered across the vault of heaven.
Against his chest swayed a small amber-coloured pendant. It had been given to him ten thousand years ago, by the only woman he had ever loved — in Atlantis, as it was dying. He carried that memory still.
His heart was quiet. Even if death were to come to the people of the surface, Narada had already been granted passage to Tusita Heaven — the palace in the higher dimension. The cycle of dissolution would not touch him.
All worlds below Tusita Heaven were fated, at the end of this age, to perish. The dust realm is impermanent.
(3) — Zero-Dimensionalisation and the Truth of the Cosmos
Long ago, the Great King En and his kindred — the Ten Kings — descended from beyond Neptune and established dominion over the seventh planet, the Earth. From that moment, those who lived under his rule were bound, with him, to a fate of destruction.
But when the true ancestral sun rises beyond the horizon of heaven, its fierce radiance will obliterate the rulers of Yomi. The golden light — what a sovereign, terrible sound those words carry — will reconstitute the human body. Those who do not possess a sufficient energy field will be broken apart below the atomic level and extinguished. The ancient people of the underground kingdom will re-emerge, and a terrestrial paradise will be built anew.
“How long I have waited for this day.”
Yet the rulers of Yomi, fearing their own dissolution, are attempting to zero dimensionalise the Earth — to generate a black hole inside the planet and allow it to expand. They believe this will sustain their control. They are wrong. The pole of the sun itself has already begun to change. In struggling toward what appears to be victory, they are in fact moving toward mutual extinction. There has never been a true victor among those who defy the truth of the cosmos.
Cosmic truth has ignored them from the beginning, and goes on existing, eternally. This is precisely why we, too, may exist eternally — as long as we continue to follow it.
Yet today’s Earth is moving toward self-zero-dimensionalisation before that time arrives, already beginning to drift from its orbit. The four-dimensional energy the Earth holds is diffusing outward to the fringes of the galaxy, activating the black hole within the planet’s interior — which will, in the end, draw the material world on the surface inward and consume it.
In the sky, Venus, Saturn, and Jupiter had begun to align in a single line. Jupiter pulsed with irregular, fierce light. Antares in the Scorpion blazed like a ruby. Close beside it hung Mars, radiating a red as dark as blood.
Ancient Chinese lore warns: when the Wandering Fire draws near to the Heart Star, ill fortune follows. Mars — the Wandering Fire — approaches Antares — the Heart Star — and calamity is foretold.
“From Antares — from the Yama Heaven — Jesus descended. He abides now in Tusita Heaven, studying under Shakyamuni, awaiting the time to save all sentient beings.”
Mars was once a colony of the Earth. As the indigenous peoples of the Americas were subjugated by Europeans, so Mars was destroyed by the people of Earth — in the age when Mars moved in the orbit that Earth now occupies, and Earth moved in the orbit that Venus now does.
If this cycle of evil recurs, the people of Venus — the celestial beings — may impose their dominion over the Earth once more and make of it a colony again. To them, the
present state of the Earth — on the edge of nuclear war, convulsed by extreme weather, its energies destabilising — is itself a threat.
“In the name of justice, they may move to intervene in Earth’s affairs.”
But that intervention would bring only chaos and upheaval. The people of the Earth know nothing — educated and informed within systems governed by interest and appetite, they no longer know what they are permitted to believe. They eat what television tells them to eat, drink what magazines tell them to drink, even if it is poison. They do not understand the essence of science, nor that science itself has been absorbed into the machinery of economics.
If the Earth is destroyed by nuclear war or catastrophe, even those who survive will be thrown back to the Stone Age. Even now, most scientists could not produce a single match from scratch.
In Narada’s chest, the darkness expanded, deepened by the ruby light pouring from Antares above.
Chapter Four
Phā Wisāt Thong Chai — The Forest of Wisdom
As Narada’s words dissolved into the night sky, Mari felt the wind change against her cheek. Bangkok’s noise was returning — holographic advertisements slashing light through the dark between towers, their glow falling on the golden chedi of Wat Pho. The city’s strange duality — the most advanced technology coexisting with a thousand years of wisdom — reminded her, as it always did, of Kyoto.
Her phone vibrated. An alert: atmospheric methane concentration anomaly. The environmental monitoring app she had developed was showing climate change advancing faster than the projections. And then a second notification — Somchai: Come to the lab immediately. Important discovery.
Chulalongkorn University’s new science complex near Suvarnabhumi Airport had drawn her here two years ago — her quantum-computation climate models and her
understanding of environmental engineering finding fertile ground in partnership with Somchai’s atmospheric physics. And beneath that professional mission, a private one: the manuscript her grandfather, Sato Gendō, had left behind. A scholar of comparative religion, he had spent his final years moving between Thai Buddhist monasteries and Japanese Shinto shrines, seeking something at the intersection of musuhi and paṭicca samuppāda.
The research centre’s glass door slid open. A hologram confirmed her identity. “Welcome back, Dr Sato. Dr Wichaisawat is waiting for you in the quantum computing lab.”
Somchai was fixed on the holographic display when she entered. His composure — his habitual calm — had been replaced by something she rarely saw on him: awe.
“Our quantum algorithm detected an unexpected data pattern,” he said, pulling up the Earth’s electromagnetic field distribution in three dimensions. It bore no resemblance to standard magnetic mapping. From deep within the planet, a strange pattern of wave emission was propagating outward.
Then he called up a second hologram: an old parchment covered in Thai script interwoven with Sanskrit characters she recognised.
“A Buddhist manuscript from the Sukhothai period. Found in an old temple near Ayutthaya. It contains concepts that correspond, with startling precision, to modern quantum physics. And then — look at this.”
He called up a third image. Mari stopped breathing. It was a scan of her grandfather’s research notebook.
“How did you — ”
“Your grandfather visited my teacher twenty years ago. I was still a student then, but I was one of those who was changed by him. He was researching the structural similarity between the Shinto concept of musuhi and the Buddhist principle of paṭicca samuppāda.”
Mari’s hand went to her pendant. The crystal glowed faintly, a small spiral turning at its heart.
“And this is what he left.”
The hologram shifted to an ancient map of Northern Thailand. In the mountains, three words in archaic script: Phā Wisāt Thong Chai — the Forest of Wisdom.
“I didn’t know Grandfather was searching for this place…”
“It is not simply a physical location, Mari. It is a domain where consciousness and matter intersect. Thai monks call it the Forest of Wisdom. In Japan it may correspond to the himorogi — the sacred enclosure of a deity.”
Somchai drew an old box from a drawer and took from it a crystal amulet — nearly identical to hers.
“This was entrusted to me by my teacher. It has been glowing faintly since this morning.”
When the two crystals drew close to each other, they began to resonate — a cold blue white light filling the room. The holographic display distorted and was replaced by a geometric pattern: a lotus at the centre, a Japanese sacred emblem and a Buddhist mandala fused into a single intricate form.
“Musuhi and paṭicca-samuppāda, unified…” Mari breathed. “Was this what Grandfather spent his life searching for?”
Somchai’s computer sounded an alarm. Across Bangkok, spacetime anomalies were being observed. Reports were coming in of visions of the past — the ancient city of Ayutthaya appearing superimposed on the modern streets. And on the horizon, a vast crystalline structure was emerging, barely visible, against the sky.
“We have to go to the Forest of Wisdom,” Mari said. “That is where Grandfather’s answer lies.”
“The entrance to the Forest of Wisdom,” Somchai replied, “according to legend, only appears where science and mystery intersect. Our quantum data indicates that condition is being met — right now.”
He began plotting a route north. “But physical travel alone won’t be enough. We must prepare at the level of consciousness as well.”
Mari understood. Shinto meditation, as her grandfather had taught it. Buddhist meditation, as Somchai had been trained. Both, together.
Before they could leave, the building lurched. The power died. Emergency lighting cast the room in red. Through the window, Bangkok had transformed — the modern city and the ancient capital overlaid upon each other, and rising between them, enormous, a crystalline structure that had not been there before.
Guided only by the blue light of the pendant, the two scientists moved into the darkness. The journey toward the Forest of Wisdom — where the secrets of Japanese Shinto and Thai Buddhism converge — had begun.
Chapter Five
Spacetime Converging — Bangkok and Beyond
(1)
The clouds above evening Bangkok were wrong. Somchai stood at the window of his high-rise laboratory, looking across the Chao Phraya to where the spires of Wat Arun caught the last of the sun beyond the towers of the Silom district. The ancient among the modern — a view that usually steadied him.
They had been working together for three months — his atmospheric physics, her quantum computation — and in that time, the fusion had begun to open terrain neither field had entered alone.
The AI assistant — Mizuki — completed a magnetic-field analysis in seventeen minutes. As the data resolved, both crystals began to glow.
For a single moment, the view from the window fractured. Through the skyscraper canyons of a city that looked like Manhattan, the temple complexes of ancient Ayutthaya appeared — and vanished.
“Did you see it?”
“Yes. To me it looked like an old Kyoto temple, overlapping.”
The magnetic data on the screen showed a wave pattern with an artificial periodicity that suggested intentional manipulation — and a frequency matching quantum entanglement.
“As though someone is deliberately modulating the magnetic field,” Somchai said.
“And the periodicity…” Mari calculated. “It matches the characteristics of quantum entanglement. Theoretically possible, but the energy required would be…”
Somchai’s phone showed another alert: the Chao Phraya was rising — despite the dry season.
He drew from his desk a fragment of ancient parchment, read aloud: “‘When the time is full, the Forest of Wisdom will open its gates once more. For those who become the bridge between two worlds — who make of ancient wisdom and new learning a single thing — the great balance will be restored’.”
The two crystals resonated again, filling the room with soft light. Outside, a thundercloud was forming where no thundercloud should be.
“Perhaps we are those bridge-builders,” Mari said quietly.
(2) — The Other Side of the Opening — Where Spacetime Crosses Late in the night, Mari continued working through the ancient manuscript Somchai had given her, cross-referencing it with her grandfather’s research notes.
“Ātman…” she murmured. “Grandfather’s notes use this word, too. ‘The inner controller’.”
“In mainstream Buddhism, ātman is denied,” Somchai said. “But in esoteric traditions, the interpretation shifts — it can mean the connection within a person to the truth of the cosmos.”
The AI assistant’s blue light intensified: “The magnetic field anomaly displays a specific frequency pattern. This pattern corresponds to a special frequency lying between the theta and delta ranges of human brainwaves. Characteristics analogous to quantum entanglement have also been detected.”
Both of them drew the same breath at the same moment.
“The state between consciousness and unconsciousness…”
“The moment of falling asleep.”
The two crystals flared again. The holographic display flickered — and for an instant showed a different world: an ancient forest, a colossal standing stone.
Their crystals had found each other in the dark. Somchai’s had come from a temple in Kanchanaburi, passed down through his teacher. An old photograph — an elderly Japanese monk and young Thai monks together — revealed what neither had expected: Somchai’s grandfather was in that photograph. Their grandfathers had known each other. The threads of fate, all this time, had been crossing in the invisible.
Mari read from her grandfather’s notebook: “‘The light of the mind moves faster than the light of matter. Led by that light, one does not lose the way, even through the opening in spacetime’.”
Outside, the thunder was louder now. The Chao Phraya continued to rise. Through the window of the research centre, an impossible sight: between the towers of the contemporary city, the golden chedis of the ancient royal capital materialised like a ghost and did not immediately disappear.
“Let us prepare,” Mari said. “We go to Chiang Mai tomorrow — but our true destination may not be a physical place. It may be a state of consciousness. The crystals are the
key.”
She read the final passage aloud: “‘When the heart begins to shine, observe quietly the midpoint between chest and navel. There, a silver-white light stronger than ordinary light may be perceived — glowing. It is the entrance to Tusita Heaven, between the fourth and fifth dimensions’.”
“Tusita Heaven — in esoteric Buddhism, the dwelling place of Maitreya,” Somchai said, his voice filled with something between wonder and reverence. “The realm of mind, of consciousness that has surpassed the speed of light…”
A thunder-crack. For one instant, the room filled with silver-white light. The two crystals blazed, and that light spread from the heart of each of them outward into the room.
“Can you feel it?” Mari whispered. “The ātman within us… is waking.”
They took each other’s hands without words. The crystals resonated, and their light enclosed the two of them. The scientists’ awareness began, slowly, to depart from the familiar three-dimensional world — drawn toward the opening in spacetime.
Toward a domain that Einstein’s relativity could not describe, their souls were preparing to travel — faster than light.
Chapter Six
The End of the Earth, and Its Beginning
In the twilight between solar systems, countless motherships had gathered in silence — far enough from Earth that the planet’s light no longer reached them. Aboard the flagship of the Cosmos Research Institute, the supreme council of the Alliance was in session.
“We must extract our agents from the Earth immediately.”
The motion carried without dissent. Each mothership carried between ten and thirty
small scout craft, and launch preparations began at once.
Then a transmission arrived from an unknown planetary system. The captain read it and his face fell.
“The gravitational magnetic field of the planet called Earth is affecting our star system. Significant changes are propagating through the galaxy as a whole. We issue this warning as members of the Cosmic Alliance.”
He ordered an immediate re-calculation of the field’s range of influence. The results, when they arrived, were not what anyone expected.
“We cannot get a reading. A wave pattern has been observed that cannot be expressed in any known equation.”
The captain stared at the measurement graphs. “The mass structure itself has begun to change. The constants of space are collapsing.”
A scientific council was convened immediately. Somchai was among those present. He addressed the assembled scientists with deliberate calm.
“What we have in our data is evidence of a dimensional change. Internal structural changes within the Earth. Galactic resonance. To analyse these comprehensively, two dimensional computing is no longer adequate. We must activate the three-dimensional computer.”
The three-dimensional computer was no ordinary device. It crystallised data from higher dimensions and reconstructed physical law as though thinking — something closer to a living organism than a machine.
The following morning, at nine o’clock, it delivered its conclusion.
“Not only the Earth but the entire solar system has reached a critical threshold. The gravitational-field anomaly has exceeded initial projections by more than ten times and continues to increase. We have already begun to relocate to the next solar system; the scope of this event exceeds all prior models. This is a cosmic problem of a scale we did
not anticipate.”
Somchai read it in silence, then spoke quietly to himself.
“So — this is a ritual of the Void Realm…”
Interference from a fifth-dimensional world — the realm of anti-mass. In the Void Realm, space is perceived not as extension but as existence. As our world is anti-mass to us, to the inhabitants of the Void, we are the hallucination.
In that world of true being, the universe is life itself. Those who dwell there live in eternity.
“If they are the living — then what are we? The already dead?”
As he spoke, his thoughts turned to Agartha — the underground world. He opened a sutra to a passage that had been waiting for him:
“When the Buddha teaches the Dharma, the celestial beings gather. They are those who dwell in the void of the Saha world.”
Agartha — not a subterranean kingdom but a passage leading to the Void Realm.
“Perhaps all of this is the universe’s periodic regeneration. And perhaps the being who will serve as its catalyst is about to be born — here, on Earth.”
He closed the book quietly. Like a cell dividing, a new form of life was preparing to break through the shell of spacetime.
Deep in the night. The underground Cosmos Research Institute facility near Chiang Mai. One thousand metres below the mountain, in a cold computation chamber, Mari stood alone.
“This wave… it’s neither gravity nor magnetism. But it touches the mind directly…” The three-dimensional computer, Milas, had found something embedded within the
anomalous gravity waves observed deep inside the Earth: an infinitesimally faint information structure. Its frequency approximated human brainwaves — or rather, it had to be called something else entirely. Will, vibrating.
Her grandfather’s voice in her memory: “Mari, where do you think the divine resides? Not in mountain, not in sea. In emptiness. In the void — there lie all beginnings and all endings.”
“The void… Could the ‘divine’ Grandfather spoke of be an entity that intervenes in Earth from outside our dimensional framework entirely?”
The door behind her opened. Somchai.
“The core’s accumulated resonance energy may reach criticality tonight,” she said, before he could speak. She expanded the hologram to show the Earth’s interior. “Here — deep in the boundary between the Eurasian Plate and the Indo-Australian Plate. From the Earth’s navel, a spiral field is generating — a connection to the Void Realm.”
“What we call Agartha,” Somchai said. “In the Buddhist texts, the Ākāśagarbha; in Sumer, the Gate of Enlil. The critical contact point between the Earth and the fifth dimension.”
“But who is trying to open that gate?”
Somchai was silent a moment — reaching toward a distant memory before he spoke. “Twelve thousand years ago, the scientists of Mu already foresaw this event. They believed that a being they called the Child of Resonance would periodically trigger a dimensional re-convergence.”
“The Child of Resonance…”
“An entity that integrates dimensions through vibration as its medium and regulates the breathing of the cosmos. In the depths of the Earth, right now, that being is beginning to wake.”
Mari’s breath stopped. “Then — are we here to wake it? Or to stop it?”
“Perhaps both. The question is what interpretation the awakened being will bring to this cosmos.”
Milas sounded an alert. Further anomalous magnetic variation. The wave cycles were becoming irregular; a new gravitational disturbance from outside the solar system had been detected.
“Something — someone — is entering our universe.”
“Somchai. Dimensional collapse has begun. Milas calculates that within forty-two hours, our three-dimensional structure itself may be folded.”
“Our universe — ceases to be.”
“We have no choice but to access the Void Realm directly.”
Somchai nodded. “To open the gate of Agartha, science alone is not sufficient. We need resonance of the heart, Mari. Your grandfather’s knowledge — now, at last, it is needed.”
One thousand metres beneath a mountain near Chiang Mai — in a vast cavern no human eye had ever seen — the walls curved in a gentle spiral, emanating a soft blue green light. At the centre floated an immense column of rock — the void-stone — its surface covered in countless carved symbols. Not letters: memory itself, sealed within the stone.
Mari opened the wooden box she carried — inside it, a white sandalwood tablet and a single stalk of bamboo grass, left by her grandfather.
She stood before the stone column and, slowly, began to chant the Pāli mantra she had learned from a Thai monk:
Gaté gaté pāragaté pārasaṃgaté bodhi svāhā —
The void-stone trembled. The carved symbols resonated, emitting a faint sound,
beginning to glow.
“A dimensional field is actually opening — !”
And then, from the communications terminal: an emergency alert. A senior researcher at the Cosmos polar station in Antarctica, face white on the screen.
“This is the South Pole. Space has — it has torn. A countershock wave is flowing in from the fifth dimension. And a being that appears to be Narada has reportedly appeared — on the surface — ”
“What? He’s already — ?”
Something stirred in Mari’s chest — not surprise, but something older. Like a memory within her, responding.
“The Child of Resonance has come home,” Somchai whispered.
The void-stone blazed. Beyond language now — a flood of light and sound. Within it, the consciousness of both of them was slowly drawn outward, beyond themselves.
Time lost its meaning. Space lost its shape. What remained was a world composed of pure resonance alone — neither information nor matter.
And they heard it.
Not a voice. But a presence, unmistakably there.
“I am the Child of Resonance. I have resonated with countless endings, and I become the new breath of a new cosmos.”
When the crystal resonance reached its apex, the gate of spacetime opened completely. And the creation of a new cosmos began, quietly, without fanfare, in the way that all truly great things begin.
The Dance of the Tahoe Warriors By Dianne Reeves Angel June 2, 2026
On topaz shores of our Lake in the Sky, They arrive with arms raised high. Warm embraces, sunlit skin, Laughter rising from deep within.
Dancing at the water’s edge, Our prima ballerina treads. Karina, spirit of lake and sky, Unmoved as mountain winds rush by. We watch in grateful, hushed suspense As she begins our sacred dance. Her open arms extend again To welcome Tahoe’s wandering kin.
Lily of the Playa, wild and bright, Appears like a Gypsy queen at night. Moonlight catches coins that gleam Upon her dress in silver streams. Kohl-lined eyes reveal the tigress drawn, Secrets smoldering long till dawn.
Festive Carolina, queen of fire, Lifts our humble costumes higher. With feathers bright and strands of light, She transforms us for the night. Her artist’s eye, both keen and rare, Finds hidden magic everywhere.
I find my peace, my altar place, When Linda moves with quiet grace. Though sorrow once had called her name, She met its fire and still remained. A gentle smile, a steady light, A soul that comforts through the night. In every step, in every glance, She teaches us grace in her dance.
Sprightly Jannie, elfin soul, Moves to rhythms deep and whole. Radiant heart and fearless leaps Ancient wisdom she softly keeps. Traveler, not tourist, of distant lands, She brings home gifts shaped by human hands. Stories, songs, and cultures richly spun, Lessons gathered beneath foreign suns. Yet through each journey, far and wide, She returns to the dance by our side.
Lady Jane, serene as prayer, Moves with moonlight in her hair. Though sorrow waits beyond the shore, She does not bow beneath its force. For in the dance she lays aside The grief and burdens locked inside. And from her strength, both fierce and worn, A quiet radiance is reborn.
Golden Benita, sharp and bright, Still glowing in the firelight. Though sorrow once had claimed your hand, Love found its way to you again. And when he looks at you, we see What tenderness was meant to be. Twice touched by love, both true and rare, You wear its radiance everywhere.
Deborah, herald of summer’s return, For her warm hearth and lanterns burn. From silent desert sands she comes To laughter, music, beating drums. At Dew Drop Inn she lights the night, With flowing wine and lantern light. Tea for comfort, feasts prepared with care, And always one more chair to spare. Wise and witty, generous still, She gathers friends with joyful skill. Beneath Tahoe’s brief golden glow, Her table becomes the place we go.
Lovely Lindy joins the line With laughter bright as summer wine. Though grief once stole her golden boy, Still she chooses light and joy. Her radiant spirit, brave and clear, Draws all who love her ever near. She shimmies, she sings, she lifts the air, And leaves her kindness everywhere.
O sisters dear, we dance, we pray— In moonlight, storm, or break of day. In a whirl of light we spin, Our joy a hymn upon the wind. Though years may pass and seasons roam, Still this wild shore remains our own. Beneath Tahoe’s silver-blue dome, We dance despite our battle scars. And leave our footprints beneath the stars.
There are presences that pass through one’s life without leaving footprints, yet they leave behind deep vibrations within the soul. No noise, no name is called—only a fleeting touch upon a fragile moment of the heart—and then they remain, like a fragrance that never fades from memory.
“Tơ Vương Áo Dài” was born from such moments. In it, the áo dài is not merely a symbol of gentle beauty, but a delicate streak of light within the rushing flow of life. A passing figure, as light as the wind, yet enough to stir an entire stillness within the heart.
The poem does not tell a complete story, but instead preserves scattered fragments of emotion—of gazes, of distance, of unspoken feelings that have already turned into lingering attachment before ever being named. Between reality and dream, between closeness and distance, one sometimes can only stand still, quietly watching a figure dissolve into the mist of time.
If poetry is the place where the unholdable is preserved, then “Tơ Vương Áo Dài” is a gentle attempt to hold onto a beautiful moment—even if only in imagination, even if only within memory.
And perhaps, it is precisely this incompleteness that creates the most enduring beauty of human emotion: beautiful because it was once felt, and forever lingering because it once touched the heart.
ENTANGLED IN AO DAI
Thi Lan Anh Tran (Aschaffenburg, Germany) & Musharraf Hussain (Assam, India)
Ao Dai drifts softly through the lane, and leaves my soul in twilight rain. Your eyes—like evening light so clear, just touch my heart and linger here.
The wind plays gently with your hair, like drifting clouds suspended there. You smile—an open sky so wide, and scatter stars deep in my mind.
I am a leaf adrift in time, carried by winds of fleeting rhyme. I wish to follow, soft and still, yet stand unmoving by your will.
Perhaps our fate is silent, small, or love blooms in a misted call. I stand alone, yet not alone, your voice still calls me like a tone.
If one day you should pass my way, please let me call your name that day. Even within a dream’s soft gleam, just let me hold your fading dream.
I gather all my broken vows, and stitch them where the memory flows. Your Ao Dai still moves like grace— while I am lost in endless space…
TƠ VƯƠNG ÁO DÀI
Thị Lan Anh Tran (Aschaffenburg, Germany) & Musharraf Hussain (Assam, India)
Áo dài ai nhẹ qua đường Để hồn tôi lạc giữa sương khói chiều Mắt em như ánh ban chiều Chạm vào một thoáng đã nhiều vấn vương
Gió nghiêng sợi tóc ven đường Ngỡ như mây trắng nửa vương nửa rời Em cười nghiêng cả bầu trời Rơi trong mắt biếc rối bời tim tôi
Tôi như chiếc lá giữa đời Theo cơn gió nhẹ rã rời tháng năm Muốn theo em suốt âm thầm Mà chân đứng lại trong tầm mắt em
Phải chăng duyên khẽ lặng im Hay tình chỉ nở tim mền khói mơ Để tôi đứng mãi ngẩn ngơ Nghe tim gõ nhịp dại khờ gọi em
Nếu mai em bước qua thềm Xin cho tôi gọi tên em một lần Dẫu là trong giấc phù vân Cũng xin giữ lại bóng thân em về
Để tôi gom cả lời thề Khâu vào nỗi nhớ bốn bề mênh mang Áo dài em vẫn dịu dàng Còn tôi mắc lại giữa ngàn tơ vương…
LỜI TỰA CHO BÀI THƠ “TƠ VƯƠNG ÁO DÀI”
Có những hiện diện đi ngang qua đời người mà không để lại dấu chân, nhưng lại lưu lại những rung động sâu xa trong tâm hồn. Không ồn ào, không một lời gọi tên — chỉ là một thoáng chạm khẽ vào khoảnh khắc mong manh của trái tim — rồi từ đó ở lại, như một hương thơm không bao giờ phai trong ký ức.
“Tơ Vương Áo Dài” được sinh ra từ những khoảnh khắc như thế. Trong bài thơ, tà áo dài không chỉ là biểu tượng của vẻ đẹp dịu dàng, mà còn là một vệt sáng mong manh giữa dòng đời hối hả. Một bóng hình thoáng qua, nhẹ như gió, nhưng đủ làm lay động cả một khoảng lặng trong tim.
Bài thơ không kể một câu chuyện trọn vẹn, mà lưu giữ những mảnh cảm xúc rời rạc — của ánh nhìn, của khoảng cách, của những điều chưa từng được thổ lộ nhưng đã kịp hóa thành nỗi vương vấn. Giữa thực và mộng, giữa gần và xa, có khi con người chỉ biết đứng lặng, lặng lẽ nhìn một bóng hình tan dần vào màn sương của thời gian.
Nếu thơ ca là nơi lưu giữ những điều không thể nắm giữ, thì “Tơ Vương Áo Dài” là một nỗ lực dịu dàng để níu lại một khoảnh khắc đẹp — dù chỉ trong tưởng tượng, dù chỉ còn trong ký ức.
Và có lẽ, chính sự dang dở ấy lại tạo nên vẻ đẹp bền lâu nhất của cảm xúc con người: đẹp vì đã từng được cảm nhận, và mãi còn vương vấn vì đã từng chạm đến trái tim.
Rain draws up houses in the clouds, chairs made of light. Angels plow the night of happiness. They plant songs in the brass threshing-floors, beating the wheat of words.
On the House’s Hip
We write on the house’s hip: We are here. We chew on the street’s loneliness ’til the alley turns into a moon on the soul’s shoulder. The wind’s wound… you tell it like a secret. Lightning drinks its glass, and we drink down the question. Sparrows soften the bitter cold. What’s the point of staying…? The olive tree left it to the windows to tell what’s left of the shouting inside us, tossing it in the grinder.
Tightness
No sound strips me bare
but time’s handkerchiefs
wiping themselves,
and ruin is born
blooming tight little dreams.
Mohammed Al Gaddafi Masoud was born in 1978 in Gharyan, Libya, holds a theater diploma from Tripoli’s Jamal Al-Din Al-Miladi Institute (2000) and is the author of several collections, including lyrical poetry (We Woke Up to Joy, 2006) and journalistic dialogues (My Dialogues with Them, 2008). Widely published across the Arab world, his work has been translated into numerous languages—English, Chinese, Spanish, Polish, French, Italian, and Albanian—and appeared in international print and online journals from Spain to Argentina. In 2024, he was selected as one of 72 global poets for an Italian-language anthology curated by Angela Costa, reflecting his broadening transnational literary presence.
